Discographies formally show a five-year hiatus
between Broken Social Scene and Forgiveness Rock Record, but this is an
illusion: in reality, two more albums were released in the interim as
pseudo-«solo projects», one by Drew and one by Canning, even though many of the
members of B.S.S. still played on both records, and stylistically they were not
all that different from the usual stuff. We will return to them later on; for
now, let us stick to formalities and see what happened on May 4, 2010, when once
again they returned to us as Broken Social Scene, with yet another innovative
three-word title that implies religious philosophy masking as popular music —
or vice versa... hardly any difference either way.

Where there is
some difference is in the subtle, but important shift of attitude. Over those
five years, Broken Social Scene seem to have learned that (a) cramming fifty
thousand instruments within the small confines of a five-minute anthem does not
automatically make it mind-blowing
and stupendous; (b) a distorted guitar rock foundation may endear you to the
rigidly traditional «indie rock community», but there are also clear-cut limits
to the spiritual power of the power chord; (c) precisely shaped hooks matter, after all, especially if you are
trying to target the ave­rage concert-going Joe rather than some whacked out
New Age-crazy audience — you have to get at least one or two of those on your
album, or else you risk to irritate even the critics.

This does not mean that mediocrity will be
suddenly replaced by genius or anything, but it does mean that the album never
sounds as consistently annoying as its predecessor. Even its only in­strumental
number, ʽMeet Me In The Basementʼ, puts a couple of simple, but effectively
optimi­stic guitar / violin phrases on top of the usual pompous stomp that may
draw your attention away from the generic rhythmics and chain it to something
else — when that colorful three-note riff makes its appearance at 1:03 into the
song, for instance, it produces a singular emotional jolt the likes of which
B.S.S. rarely, if ever, hunted for in their early life.

The idea of «forgiveness» as such is exploited
in ʽAll To Allʼ, an honestly beautiful little number that relies on electronic
loops rather than rhythm guitars and a gorgeously universalist vocal part from
Lisa Lobsinger — the manner in which she intones "you made your life on
everything" is no different from the usual «hazy nymph» style of the 2000s
(think Beach House or Broadcast or whatever else), but no less soulfully
engaging because of that. And, God be praised, the song re­mains relatively
uncluttered — just a few quiet violin flourishes and kaleidoscopic electronic
sprinkling in the background here and there, enhancing the elfish mood rather
than cloaking it. Or maybe I am just a sucker for all the ladies of B.S.S. —
the second best song here, as far as I am concerned, is ʽSentimental X'sʼ, sung
by an entire trio of indie houris (Leslie Feist, Emily Haines, and Amy Millan —
apparently, the first time all three pooled their vocal cords together on the
same song), also with a one-of-a-kind arrangement: now all the strings,
electronics, and brass tacks have been carefully assembled and wound up in the
background, leaving only the pulsating rhythms and the vocal harmonies in the
foreground. It does feel better.

The loud, Wilco-ish folk-rockers have also been
improved — ʽWater In Hellʼ, for instance, makes clever use of falsettos,
thoughtfully separates the distorted rhythm and clean colorful lead guitars,
and slows down the tempo to give the anthem a little barroom bravado; and ʽForced
To Loveʼ is more reminiscent of the old noisy B.S.S., but the chorus is catchy
anyway. For some fans, the major highlight came on with the melancholia / nostalgia
of ʽSweetest Killʼ, and it does give off the impression of gorgeous
profoundness for a minute or so; however, beyond the initial impression, the
band did not find a proper way to develop the melody, so the song pretty much
dug itself a profound pit in a matter of seconds, and then just stayed there.

Of course, it is still very hard to understand
if there actually is anything that
B.S.S. are «about». The line "I get world sick everytime I take a
stand" may ring true with many people, but B.S.S. still think too much of
themselves to allow the words and the music to shed some of its ambiguity — and
if the band is transmitting any «message» at all, it hardly does itself a favor
by ending the album with a song titled ʽMe And My Handʼ: "Me and my hand /
We've been together since I was born", sung in a «John Lennon circa 1979,
baking bread with one hand and playing guitar with the other» sort of style, is
an awful idea to end the album, and a good reminder that, no mat­ter how much
of an overall improvement the whole thing is, it is still the product of a «B-grade»
band at best, sometimes lapsing into C-grade.

Still, a step up is a step up — essentially,
there are more «pop» elements here than «rock» ones, and for Broken Social
Scene, whose emotional palette rather consists of moody optimism and
intelligent hope than depression, aggression, and sociopathy, this is a good,
adequate shift of fo­cus. Throw in the seductive lady singers and occasional
hooks, and a thumbs
up becomes self-explainable. I will not force myself into the
delusion that any of this stuff will have much «stay­ing power», but as long as
it did stay around, it was pretty decent entertainment this time.

1 comment:

This one's quite a bit more... lucid than the last two. Less background clutter and more focus on hooky vocal melodies. Definitely better than the self-titled record, but not quite as thrilling as "You Forgot It". I think this band might grow on you if you spend more time with their albums.